Time
by Michelle P
Summary: There comes a time in every individual’s life when he dangles in the void between life and death, struggling to climb out. He reaches for handholds that are not there, his feet search for platforms that have crumbled away and he can do nothing.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing about Stargate SG-1, I'm only doing this for my own enjoyment. Hope you enjoy it too!**

**TIME **

**Chapter 1**

Time. It's something that many people don't have enough of.

There comes a time in every individual's life when he dangles in the void between life and death, struggling to climb out. He reaches for handholds that are not there, his feet search for platforms that have crumbled away and he can do nothing, but hang there and hope for someone to come and save him.

He hates feeling helpless, and he longs for the calm after the tempest that he is now caught up in. It's a calm that may never come, but he cannot be sure. He can't remember how long he's been in the void. Minutes, hours, maybe even days, but he isn't willing to go that far. He'll stick with minutes, or better yet, seconds. The less time he has been dangling, the more of a chance he'll have of being saved.

He isn't afraid of death, he knows that it will come to call on him eventually, but he's not ready yet. His time on Earth is so unfulfilled, so empty and unfinished.

His grip falters, he snatches it back, and he's not letting go. A soft wind rustles through his hair. He ignores it. A sound, far off grabs his attention. What is it? Gunshots? Yes, that sounds right, the gunshots ring in the dark distance. He can't tell which direction they are coming from, all he knows is that they exist, or do they? They could be phantom shots from the past, come back to haunt him one last time, they are. He's almost sure of it.

With his realization, the shots fall silent and wind scampers over his cold skin, skin that is chilled with the approach of death. He struggles to open his eyes. He wants one last look at the world. He wants to see the sky again, he misses the clouds and he isn't even gone yet.

With all of his strength, he manages to open his eyes to mere slits. The strong, metallic scent of blood encircles him. Blood, his blood, his life force is slowly draining away from him to seep into the ground beneath his helpless body.

The action seems to have died away, there are no more men screaming as there had been previously. The rain has stopped and now a slim sliver of blue sky stares lovingly down at him while sunlight filters through grey clouds that wander gracefully across the distance. He smiles ever so slightly and almost immediately afterwards, gasps as stabs of pain streak through him. His world fades, but he holds onto it and refuses to give in. He isn't finished with life yet.

The calm has come, following the storm, but there is no calm for him. His life is leaving him; his body is betraying him, letting him down. He feels alone and he watches the clouds drift across the sky. The sight comforts him, but only temporarily until he is once again reminded of his suffering.

He watches the sky, listens to the world and allows his mind to drift away. He thinks back and analyzes how he came into the situation in which he is now being held prisoner. He thinks it is his own fault, but he doesn't understand how. He hasn't done anything to deserve this, he hasn't made any stupid moves such as he has in the past. He was only walking and he walked into a battlefield that he didn't even know existed.

He remembers now. He remembers the many shouts of his enemies when they saw him approach. He recalls the sound of the first shot that rang out in the peaceful silence. He remembers running. He heard Colonel O'Neill on the radio.

"_Jonas, we're taking fire!"_

Yes, he was taking fire as well. He dodged shots, and rolled free of some of them, yet it hadn't been enough. One had hit the target and another followed. He fell forward and hit the ground hard. His mind screamed at him to get up and keep going, but he couldn't. He just couldn't do it. It was too much. His world had blacked out until moments ago when he'd finally awoken. Now he was alone, the battle had moved elsewhere, leaving hundreds of dead littering the ground.

There was a pained moan that came from his right. Another soul was slowly dying, another soul that had so much to live for, one that felt like there were so many things unfinished, a soul that hadn't said goodbye to those back home. A soul much like his own.

Goodbye, it was probably one of his least favorite words because every goodbye could be the last. This is especially true in _his_ job. In his job, a single goodbye holds a world of meaning and importance. He hadn't said goodbye. He'd said _'see you later.'_ Yeah, right. He should've said goodbye to his friends when he'd gone for his walk, but he hadn't. Now he regretted it.

The cold wind blows again. His wounds cry to him, his life keeps slipping away. He feels himself falling into unconsciousness, but he doesn't want to fall because if he falls, he might never wake up again. He holds on, but he cannot keep his grip and he finds his mind wandering back to what went so wrong. It's a question that he doesn't even know he can find the answer to…

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! I'm back with this new idea, the other story is currently on hold, but it will get finished eventually. I just had this idea knocking around and I had to write it down. It's jumpy, it'll jump from present to past and back and fourth, I hope this doesn't bring about confusion, but the present story and the past story are firmly separated by line breaks to help ease the confusion. I have no more mid-terms, and final are in April, so I should have more time for writing in between the papers that I have to get done for my classes. I hope you can expect fairly regular updates, even if the updating times get a bit weird. Read on and enjoy!**

**Chapter 2**

The past is so close that he can almost reach out and touch it. It had only been a short time ago that he had been happy and full of life. A lot can change in a moment's time.

The mission had started early this morning, or was it yesterday? He can't remember; his mind is foggy. He gasps again and his forehead wrinkles with the effort. It was this morning. He's sure now.

* * *

It was always thrilling to step through the shimmering blue event horizon of the gate. It was a taste of adventure that people such as himself longed for. Every day was a _new_ adventure, unpredictable, challenging. He liked it that way. 

General Hammond had briefed them the evening before about what to expect. The inhabitants were peaceful people, traders, he had said. SG-3 had gone on a mission to that same planet at the beginning of the week without any reported difficulties.

Colonel Weatherly, leader of SG-3 had said, "_The folks were mighty nice. Great with hospitality and they made a wonderful homecooked meal."_

The middle-aged Colonel had said that the people offered them an alliance, a trustworthy relationship. General Hammond was politely pleased and briefed SG-1 on the situation. He said that it would be _"A nice change."_ Colonel O'Neill had offered no argument, made one of his usual jokes and accepted the diplomatic mission for the team.

With the news of the new mission, SG-1 seemed relaxed, eager even. It would be nice to take an uneventful mission for once.

* * *

Uneventful, yeah right. The wind dies down and Jonas lays shaking on the ground, yet he is not chilled with anything, but the threat of oncoming death. Perhaps that is enough. Perhaps he needs nothing more than death to take his warmth away from him. 

The land is silent, there are no shouts, and there are no footfalls. Nobody is coming to rescue him. Frustrated tears burn behind his eyes, but he will not let them fall. Even in death he does not want to appear weak. He draws in a shaky breath and waits for the pain to pass. It dulls, but does not vanish. He doesn't think it will _ever_ vanish.

A lonely bird calls to him, but he cannot answer, his throat is dry, his voice refuses to work. He can only lay there, useless, broken and helpless. His mind wanders…

* * *

General Hammond had been there to bid them farewell. He had watched them leave, smiled and told them that he'd see them when they got back. They'd stepped into the gate and been shuttled along to the _peaceful_ planet. 

Sure enough, when they'd arrived, it had seemed peaceful enough. A party had been there to welcome them with friendly greetings and smiling faces. The people had indeed seemed pleasant. Had they only known the true motives behind the cheerful exteriors.

Looks can be deceiving. That was certainly true for the people on the planet. The only problem was that they hadn't seen it sooner.

The inhabitants had led them into the main town, a quaint little place with a few intimate buildings and small homes on the outskirts. The marketplace had been set up to welcome guests with decoration chains and joyful music playing in the background.

The day had gone well and for once, SG-1 had thought that the mission _would_ be uneventful and relaxing. However, that thought was only in place until the sounds of terrified screaming had interrupted a rather intelligent conversation between Jonas and a young man.

Colonel O'Neill had been the first to start after the noise, always the hero, always the leader, never dropping that façade once. The Colonel had left the relaxed behind and had slipped into battle mode, a mode that Jonas was used to seeing him in. Soon to follow were Teal'c and Sam. Jonas ran after them and he heard the pounding of footsteps behind him as others came as well.

The screaming had been coming from a riverside. A shallow river, more like a brook, not very wide and not as active. The water bubbled happily over soft stones and pebbles, yet the young girl next to it clearly had not been feeling the same joy as the stream. Her straight brown, hair, pulled into a simple ponytail stuck to her wet cheeks where she had been crying. Her deep brown eyes quivered helplessly and she was reaching into the water for something.

Jack went to her and cast anxious eyes that matched her own into the brook. His face blanked and then took on a confused, anxious expression as he dropped on his stomach and reached forward into the water and pulled another young girl free of the shallow stream. He had cradled her small body next to his chest and listened to her mouth to hear if breath escaped her lips.

The older man's face paled and he quickly lay the child onto the grassy bank and began compressions, being careful not to break her fragile bones. The young redhead coughed and brought up the water that had taken her lungs hostage. O'Neill rolled her to her side and lay a steady hand on her shoulder.

From somewhere in the crowd that had gathered, a man and woman burst through, the woman was crying and the man had an alarmed, misty look in his eyes. Both dropped next to the trembling girl that O'Neill had just saved from an untimely death and ran grateful fingers through her red waves. The woman drew the Colonel into a thankful hug and he replied with a curt _"You're welcome."_

Jack had gotten to his feet and made his way to the other girl, who, not knowing what to do grabbed the older man around the waist and cried tears of relief. O'Neill knelt in front of her and held her while she cried into his shoulder.

A short amount of time passed and the child finally released O'Neill and went to greet her father who was coming through the crowd with a concerned expression on his round face. He scooped the child into his arms and kissed her hair as she began to cry again. _"I'm sorry daddy. It's all my fault."_

The father hushed his girl and said,_ "I'm just glad you're okay, and Gwen will be as well."_

Jack had pushed himself to his feet and sauntered easily over to stand next to Sam who smiled and replied _"Good job, Sir."_

Jack had shrugged, _"It's what I do."_

A man had stepped from the crowd and offered eternal gratitude to the Colonel, but Jack wanted none of it. He shrugged it off as though it was nothing and cast his eyes to where Jonas stood and smiled. A smile that Jonas had returned.

* * *

Jonas's mind stops wandering. He still doesn't know how he ended up in the current predicament. Saving a child is no cause for war. He smiles, of course not. It isn't the child that started this. 

The wind blows again, a long and lonely whisper across a dead, barren land that was once lush with life. Life is too short, he knows that now, but he can't change what has happened, he can only look to the future and hope that it is brighter than the past.

He swears to keep faith, he refuses to accept defeat and give up. He will not be the guest of honour at Death's next banquet. He will fight to keep his life, even though the grim reaper raps at his door…

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Time never used to be something that Jonas worried about. To him it was just another factor in life, a life that didn't last nearly long enough. Tears sting his eyes again and he blinks them away. He can't break down, no matter what. He draws a shuddering breath and ignores the fire and pain it sends through his body.

Breathing isn't supposed to hurt. Breathing is a force of life; it's an automatic function, just like the beating of the heart. What happens when those forces take concentration? What happens when breathing causes suffering and a heart beat causes groundbreaking pain? What happens? One dies. That's what happens, one falls victim to time and realizes that he doesn't control his fate any longer.

Jonas's fate is in the hands of time now. It's a dangerous place to be, because time is not gentle. Time is rough and unpredictable. It's painful, yet it can also be wonderful. How can something be all those things at once? He doesn't know, but time _is_ all those things at once. It's pain and suffering, but it's also joy and contentment.

The wind dies with a final whisper and leaves Jonas in a silence so thick that he feels like he's drowning in it. He can't surface for air; the silence is pressing down on him. He hears his heart struggling to beat slowly in his chest; his breathing is sharp and raspy.

So much pain. He never knew that so much pain could exist within him. He's cold, he's alone, and he's dying. He can feel it; he can feel his life abandoning him only to toss a malicious smile back toward his suffering body. Death is mocking him, laughing at his misery.

They say that misery loves company, but Jonas has no company, he's alone. The silence of the world drags on and Jonas lets his mind float. He wants to remember.

* * *

The day had passed in quick succession, one thing happened after another and it all seemed to have been heaped upon them at once. Between gratitude and festivities, the team of SG-1 had been overwhelmed by mid afternoon, but there was so much more to come.

The betrayal had come slowly. It was a betrayal of trust and friendship. Nobody knew what had exactly caused it, they only knew that it had happened. There were theories about what had done it. It may have been the fact that O'Neill had saved a child from dying by seemingly amazing powers to the planet inhabitants, or it may have been the disagreement.

_The disagreement._ That was almost certainly what had brought war to crash down on them.

It wasn't even a true disagreement. It was more like differing views. They had been taken away from the festival at roughly three in the afternoon. The inhabitants' leader had led them to something like a shrine. It was a majestic building of pure white marble. It had a high roof and elaborate pillars in the front.

Quietly, they had been led in. It was dark when the doors were closed and the only light came from the sun filtering through the elegant stained glass windows on all four sides. The room was vast and it was open, except for a raised platform in the front with an altar placed strategically in the centre to catch the attention of someone as he walked in.

There were candles attached to the walls, but none of them were lit. They walked slowly toward the platform and their shoes clicked against the floor to fill the immense room with the echo of footsteps. They stopped and the sound died away.

"Drop to your knees in the presence of greatness. You do not want to anger the deities." The leader had said.

"What deities?" O'Neill had asked casually, surveying the walls.

"Those that should be worshipped."

SG-1 had hesitantly dropped to their knees, but did nothing more. The leader turned to face the right wall, and SG-1 followed. The man had spoken then.

"Apollo, lord of light and truth, I humbly ask you to forgive our visitors, for they do not know our ways. Bless us with your greatness and teach us to do your bidding." The leader was silent and turned to face the left wall.

"Aurora, goddess of the dawn and new beginnings, I ask you as well to forgive our visitors who do not know our ways. Bless us with the arrival of a new dawn and give us a chance at a new beginning." Silence again, then he turned to the back wall.

"Pluto, you control the dead and the underworld, protect our loved ones that have passed." He turned to the front wall.

"Janus, you see the past, present and future. You control passage, time and space. I humbly ask you keep us safe and lead us in our journey." He stopped.

Jack had looked to Jonas.

"Roman gods and goddesses." Jonas had answered. Jack had made a face of realization and got to his feet following the leader.

"Come, I will take you to the inner chamber where you can understand more deeply." The leader replied and led them to a door in the wall of Apollo. He had opened it slowly and walked inside, followed by SG-1.

Upon entering, the team had stopped. The walls of the room were painted with eloquent pictures and foreign writing. Jonas had gone to the nearest wall and investigated it carefully.

_Too carefully._

He'd deciphered the writings and with the few lines he'd translated he had had enough information to draw a conclusion. He had turned to O'Neill and spoken.

"Goa'uld." He'd said quietly.

"Are you certain?" Teal'c questioned.

"Yes."

"Excuse me!" Jack had replied rather loudly. The leader had turned.

"I hate to break it to you, but those four yahoos you just made us bow to aren't gods."

Silence had fallen, thick and unsteady while anger had boiled in the air.

"You dare to question the deities in their shrine?" The man said vehemently.

Colonel O'Neill had always been a firm believer in his opinions, and he never failed to voice them, no matter what the location was.

"I do." Jack replied stiffly.

"Quickly, we must leave before they hear your doubts. Come along!" The leader had sounded panicked and he'd quickly ushered them outside the temple and into the street.

"You have tainted the sacred space with your ridiculous words, feel you no shame?"

"Sorry, I don't." Jack had responded.

"No matter, we will let it go. We mustn't jeopardize our friendship. The relationship between our people has so much potential."

"Yes it does, but I'm not going to go back on what I said." O'Neill stated.

"You needn't have to, perhaps you did not anger them with your doubt. We will see, but until then, let me show you the rest of our town."

"It'd be a pleasure." Jack said, but his voice was dark.

* * *

Pleasure, Jonas doesn't even know the meaning of that word any longer. All of his pleasure has vanished and it does not seem eager to return.

Darkness is beginning to fall and still, he has not been rescued. He hasn't even heard any signs of other people. The smell of blood is all around him, invading his nose, and clouding his weary mind.

Weary, he's so weary; he wants the pain to go away. He doesn't want to continue like this. He can't do it. He hates feeling helpless.

'_No, don't give up, just wait a little longer. Maybe someone will come to you.'_ He thinks silently to himself because thoughts are silent.

There's so much silence weighing down on him. He feels lost, overwhelmed, frustrated and angry. There shouldn't be this much silence. Life is not silent, so why should the last moments before death be silent? They shouldn't be, they should be full of laughter and conversation, they should echo of a strongly beating heart, no pain. The last moments of life should be the same as the previous moments, but he knows that it doesn't work that way. He's seen enough death to understand that it causes great suffering. It comes up unexpected; it is unforgiving and merciless.

Not even the wind cries it's sad song in Jonas's last moments. It's too quiet and his mind fades into the past…

* * *

It was nearly five in the afternoon before the day had calmed and people made their way home. SG-1 had been left standing near a small shop speaking with the leader who had offered them unexpected hospitality for the night.

_Who knew hospitality was so highly priced?_

SG-1 had reluctantly accepted, not wishing to shatter the fragile trust that had been started and the leader had taken them to a nearby home. The team had started to settle in when a shout from the streets had drawn their attention.

Jonas had gone to the window and was greeted by the young man that he'd been speaking with during the festival. The young man's name…

_What was his name?_

Oh yes, his name was Tobian. He was twenty-two. He greeted Jonas with a wave and a smile.

"Come outside and take a walk with me. Our conversation was interrupted earlier. Let us finish it." Tobian had replied.

Jonas had hesitated, but Sam's voice from next to him changed his mind.

"Go on, Jonas. We'll be here when you get back." She had smiled and Jonas had looked to O'Neill for confirmation. He'd been eager to finish the conversation from earlier, but until now, he hadn't had the chance.

"Yeah, go and talk about your dusty old books, we'll wait up for you." Jack said.

"Thank you, I'll see you later." Jonas replied and went outside to greet the young man.

* * *

_See you later? Why didn't I say goodbye? I should have said goodbye, but I didn't know it would be the last time we saw each other._

Jonas's mind is foggy, he can't think. Pain fires through him, he breathes deeply and despite his best efforts, he can't stop the anguished tear that falls on his cold cheek.

_Why wasn't I suspicious_ _of him? Why couldn't I see he had ulterior motives? How could I have been so blind?_

He lets those questions boil in his thoughts and continues to think.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Jonas isn't suspicious by nature. He's open, and he takes people at their face value. He knows that he shouldn't let himself trust others so easily, because that trust can turn the tables fairly quickly.

The night edges over the land and vanquishes the sun. He is left in the dark, but he's still holding on. Someone will come. Surely, someone will come. They can't just leave him here to die, can they? He's worried about his teammates. It isn't like them to abandon one of their own. Why would they start now?

Jonas wills the burning tears to leave him be, but they still sting his eyes. He breathes a shaky gasp; his lungs are raspy and untrustworthy. His chest heaves and pain causes him to yelp. His yelp isn't heard, it's a faint whimper in a quiet night.

The first star blinks down at him through diamond eyes, he finds himself smiling. The night is so beautiful. It's dark, mysterious and elegant. It comes to calm a shattered spirit at the end of a difficult day. It's a change, a new beginning. In the night, a new world opens up to those below. It drifts softly, hovering above the ground to caress the earth with loving hands.

Jonas sighs. Tonight, the peaceful darkness offers him no comfort. It isn't a new beginning; it's the beginning of an end. An end that is sure to come crashing down upon him in the very near future.

* * *

Tobian had led him away from the small village, and for a man that wanted to finish a previously started conversation, he was a little too quiet. He had answered words that Jonas had put forth and even put forth a few words of his own, but nothing more. 

They had passed through the dense forest and exited at the edge of a windswept meadow of green grass and yellow flowers. A sweet smell hung heavy in the air and Jonas inhaled. A branch snapped behind him and he turned to see a group of about ten men armed with weaponry. His breath caught in his throat and he looked over to see Tobian's face was puzzled and anxious as well.

"Tobian, don't do this." One of the men replied.

"You know that I have to. Janus commands it." Tobian stated and gave a hand signal to the forest.

From within the trees, seven men crept into the meadow, also with weapons.

Jonas had passed anxious eyes over the men and his hand went to hover over his sidearm, not knowing if he would have to use it.

"What's going on?" Jonas had questioned.

"The deities are angry and wish for you to be punished." Tobian answered.

"What?" Jonas asked.

"Tobian, you don't have to do this and you know it." The man spoke again.

"Janus visited me and told me it had to be done." Tobian was almost too calm.

"Janus is a false deity!"

Jonas now knew which side he would fight on.

A gunshot ripped through the air and caught the man who was challenging Tobian's words squarely in the chest. He went down and didn't get up.

A shot came from within the group that Jonas had sided with and Tobian went down. From there, it became chaos and Jonas was caught in the middle. He'd held his own for a fair amount of time, but his zat had been taken from his hand and his gun had jammed. He was defenseless. He felt himself being pushed back into the crowd that was trying to protect him, and was startled to find that there were more people present. His gaze wandered to the opposite side and saw that they too had called for backup.

Another gun was shoved in his hand and he was once again pushed to the front lines. His radio crackled to life and he could hear gunfire coming from the other end before Jack's voice broke through.

"_Jonas, we're taking fire!"_

Jonas couldn't respond, he was too busy dodging shots that were aimed directly at him. He took up position next to a young man and continued to fire.

"Who are you people?" Jonas had asked.

"The underground. We're a movement against the deities because we know that they are pretending to be something that they are not. Every person in this group has had a family member taken or killed by the deities during the yearly festival to honour the beings. They are not forgiving, and they are false." The man quickly explained.

"I know, I've had encounters with them before." Jonas had responded between shots.

The man next to him took a hit and went down, Jonas kept firing. He began to move to a better position, but a shot ripped through his side, he yelled out, but kept going.

"Quickly! Go back down that path, stay out of sight, you will come to the town. Get your friends and make your way to the ring!" A man shouted to him and moved in front of him so he could start to get away. The man protecting him was hit and Jonas saw him fall.

Jonas kept a hand clutched tightly to his bleeding side and ran. His legs slowly weakened as he ducked off of the beaten path. He looked over to see a man fall. He kept running, but didn't get far when a shot from the front struck his stomach. He fell back and landed hard, the pain blinded him and sent splashes of white to cloud his vision.

The sky had opened up to cry tears over the bloodshed below her and the teardrops splashed against Jonas's skin. He had felt himself slipping and his vision had faded to black…

* * *

He is nestled against the soft ground and he can't move. He doesn't dare to try because he doesn't want to lose the only grasp he has left on life. He isn't ready to die. 

He hears footfalls and shouting, but the voices aren't shouting his name.

"Check them. Make sure they're dead." The voice is far off, but the footsteps grow nearer.

His mind goes into alert; he lets his heavy eyes slide shut and the struggle to remain conscious begins.

He feels the ground vibrate with every step from the approaching person. The footfalls stop next to the man beside Jonas and a solid kick is heard, followed by a pained moan from the dying soul.

Gunshots go off to echo loudly in Jonas's ears, he wants to grimace at the noise, but he doesn't dare. The dying man is dead. The footfalls stop next to him and he can feel a presence hovering nearby.

"It's the missing stranger." The voice replies. It is loud and reverberates off of the corners of his mind.

"Is he dead?" Another voice asks.

Jonas bites the inside of his cheek and waits. A sharp kick catches him in the injured side. His mind screams, but he forces his face to remain still. He bites down and tastes blood. He's kicked again, he bites harder, but his façade doesn't waver.

"Looks dead to me. What do we do with him?"

"Leave him, the wildlife will get rid of the body."

"What do we tell the prisoners?"

"Nothing. Now c'mon, check these other ones."

The footfalls turn away and leave.

Jonas is alone again. His act fails and pained tears slide down his cheeks. The taste of blood rests thickly on his tongue and he gags on it. He forces his eyes open to gaze at the laughing star that is now mocking his pain. The throbbing in his side makes him whimper helplessly.

'_Prisoners? They're prisoners?'_

There's nobody to save him, his friends are prisoners. He wonders if they're all right.

'_Are they hurt?'_

He hopes that they aren't, he wants them to be okay. He doesn't want them to suffer like he is suffering.

Why does life have to end with suffering? Why can't it end with happiness and a sense of fulfillment? Why does everything have to be so difficult?

He watches the star through weary eyes that slide shut despite his best efforts to keep them open. He feels his grasp slipping from its final handhold and he knows that once he falls, there's no coming back…

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Something pulls him back to consciousness. Once again, he grabs at the final hold and clings to it, not letting go. He listens to the soundless night, trying to find out what pulled him back and saved him from letting go. Whatever it was, he's thankful. The silent night remains as such, a soft wind sobs gently through the forest and scampers across his cold skin. He savours the feeling, for he doesn't know if it will be the last.

He feels like he's living a nightmare, but he knows it is reality. He knows it, but he doesn't want to accept it. He wants to believe that it's all a dream and that he'll wake from it gasping at any moment. He knows that he won't. He isn't going to wake up in his quarters back at the SGC and know that he's safe, that he isn't dying, but that he is dreaming. He's not.

He's had nightmares before. He's had vivid, terrifying nightmares that yanked him from sleep screaming. He still remembers most of them. The memory is a strange thing. It can selectively decide what it wants to recall, and it can store heaps of information. It can haunt a person for the rest of his life by recalling a traumatic event.

This event, should he escape alive will be one of those. It'll be an event that he won't be able to forget. He won't be able to push it away. It'll give him nightmares. He knows that it will for it is one of those things that does not happen often, but when it does, it doesn't wish to be forgotten. It doesn't have to be afraid of being forgotten; he'll never forget it.

His ears search the silence, listening for an explanation as to why he was pulled back from the edge of the abyss. He hears nothing, and it's too dark to see anything. He's helpless, he's said it time and time again, but it's the truth. He _is_ helpless and he doesn't like it.

There! There was a sound, he's sure that he heard it. It had been the sound of a snapping branch, or the crunching of leaves beneath feet. It was there, he knows that there is something there. He listens again and hears soft, hushed voices coming toward him. He can't recognize any of them. To him, the voices are only murmuring, faded and far off, but they're drawing nearer to him. He listens. He hears. He continues to listen. The voices stop.

He's puzzled, confused. There had been voices only moments before. He's sure of it. Another tear falls on his cheek. He wants to brush it away, but he's too weak. His hand will not lift. He draws in a shuddering breath, winces with pain and falls still.

He listens.

He hears.

He continues to listen.

The voices begin again, soft and urgent. They are coming closer; he blinks in the night, a slow motion that clears his hazy vision. He watches. He sees. A shadowy figure emerges from the darkness of the forest; a small flashlight rests on the barrel of a gun and it is passed over his death-chilled body. Who is it? Jonas closes his eyes, not wanting to leave himself vulnerable should the enemy be watching.

Footsteps, quick and light hurry over to him. A presence drops to the ground next to his right shoulder. A small hand, chilled from the night air brushes across his cheek.

"Jonas?" The voice is soft, kind, and gentle. He recognizes it as Lieutenant Thrush from SG-3.

He dares to slowly slide his eyes open to stare into the small, oval face of the blonde haired woman leaning over him. She smiles sympathetically. Jonas coughs painfully, but returns the smile.

"How do you get into these situations?" Colonel Weatherly questions gently.

He wants to respond, but can't find the strength within himself to do so. He blinks, for he can do nothing more. Weatherly busies himself by examining Jonas's wounds. He pulls gauze from out of his field pack and presses it against the bleeding holes.

"Hold that there, Lieutenant." Weatherly replies, his eyes flitting to Lieutenant Thrush. The blonde nods and presses her hand over the gauze. Jonas grimaces at the pressure and she smiles again. It's a soft, friendly smile, meant to reassure.

The reassurance doesn't work, but he allows himself a small feeling of hope. Perhaps he's going to get out of this after all. Wait! His team, they're captured!

He opens his mouth to speak and forces the words through his tight vocal chords. The words are barely a whisper, and Thrush has to lean closer to hear what he says. Her blonde ponytail falls over her shoulder and brushes against Jonas's cheek.

"What?" She asks, her voice is confused.

"The…team." He replies weakly, his voice scratches painfully in his throat.

"Your team? SG-1?" She asks.

Jonas nods, it's a jerky movement ending almost before it begins.

"What about them?"

"Captured." He says.

There's a gasp from Thrush.

"By who? Where are they?" She wonders.

Jonas shrugs and his injuries pull, he whimpers, but keeps the threatening tears behind his eyes.

"Sir, SG-1's been captured." Thrush speaks, her voice is loud and it rings painfully in Jonas's ears.

"They must be in the town dungeon." Weatherly replies.

A dungeon? Who has dungeons any more? Dungeons are something heard about in fairy tales, fairy tales with happy endings.

Jonas longs for a happy ending, and although his hope is slightly lifted, he can't bring himself to accept that his current predicament is going to lead to a happy ending. His mind won't let him accept it, yet his heart tells him that there's a possibility. There's a small possibility that this might turn out to be okay.

A small possibility. How small? Jonas has had small possibilities come true before, but maybe that was just luck. Luck follows him around, but at the moment, it seems as though luck has abandoned him. Luck has left him alone in the dark, shivering with the approach of death and it will not look back at his helpless form lying prone on the cold ground.

He wonders how long it's been since his life started to leave him. It was before darkness fell, and it was after five. He doesn't know how long ago that was. He's afraid, even with SG-3 hovering nearby, he's afraid. He isn't ready to leave life behind.

He wants to see the sun again; he wants to wake up fresh to another morning. He wants to relax in the evening with a good book in his lap. He wants to talk to his friends again. He's grown accustomed to Colonel O'Neill's teasing, he believes that he is finally gaining the older man's trust and that means the world to him. He wants to see a full moon rise over a distant horizon and he wants to walk in the rain. He isn't ready to go.

A hand on his shoulder grabs his attention. While his thoughts were wandering, he was slipping away from life. The final string had nearly broken and he wasn't even aware of it. He coughs and pain rips through him, tears gather in the corners of his eyes, he lets them fall. He doesn't care who sees them anymore; he can't wait for the storm to pass any longer, for it is hovering over him. It is much too close and there is no calm in sight.

"Jonas, hang in there. We'll get you home, and we'll get your team home. Just hold on." Lieutenant Aerous replies. The young man is on his left, watching him through concerned brown eyes that shimmer with sympathy.

Hold on. Jonas wants to hold on, he really does, but every time he lets his mind wander, his grasp slips and he nearly plunges into an endless darkness that is waiting to swallow him up. He's been in bad situations in the past, but none as bad as this. This is enough to do him for the past, the present _and_ the future.

He can't see the future, but he can predict what will happen and hope that it doesn't come true. He _can _see the past and the present. The past is taunting him, flashing before his eyes, laughing at him, mocking his pain, and waiting to devour him.

He slips again and almost falls, but a hand grabs his and keeps him grounded. He re-grabs onto life and holds on with all the strength he has left in him. He opens his heavy eyes once again and sees Sergeant Bromwell holding his hand in hers. She's keeping him in the land of the living. Her dark hair covers her forehead and she watches him through soft, blue eyes.

"Keep holding on, Jonas. Aerous went to radio a medical team. Don't let go."

_I don't know if I _can_ hold on._ Jonas's mind screams at him; his heart pleads with him to keep the grasp he has on life. _Don't let go_.

He feels himself slipping and struggles to grab on; his hand slips and grabs nothing, but air. He screams out for help and the grip on his hand tightens; holding him suspended above the abyss. The hand is the only thing supporting him now.

Frustrated tears slide down his cheeks.

_Please, don't let me fall…_

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"I won't, Jonas. I won't let you fall. It's going to be okay." Bromwell's voice hovers in his ears. He'd said that aloud?

He wants to believe her, but he's facing the very real possibility that he may die here on the ground, his life force is draining away from him. He draws in a shaky breath, keeps a tight hold on the hand that is saving his life and closes his heavy eyes.

---

He's moving, gently being gathered from off of the ground. The hand still holds his. That's good, it's keeping him alive. If he let's go, his life will fade away to nothing. He opens his eyes and through hazy vision sees a medical team watching him with anxious expressions.

Night is still present. The darkness is still smothering him. He blinks through tired eyes that want to slam shut on him. He can't fight it; his eyes close once again.

---

A feeling of cold, shivering, shaking, his entire body is trembling. Pain, it's still there. It blinds him and he grimaces. A small whimper escapes his frozen lips. He's still fading, still slipping; the hand is no longer there. He reaches for it, searches for that life saving grasp. There it is. He turns to see Bromwell watching him. They are at the base of the ramp in the SGC. Her face is still.

"I have to let go, Jonas. Doctor Fraser's here." Bromwell's words are soft and they gently reverberate in his ears.

He nods.

He knows she has to let go. He wants to thank her for keeping him from falling, but he can't, his mouth won't function. Pain rips through him again, a tear slides down his cheek. He closes his eyes and drifts.

---

It is soft beneath him. The room is warm. He's no longer cold. Death isn't knocking at his door. He struggles to open his eyes and does so with difficulty. He's floating, drifting in a world without pain. His vision is edgy, smoky and blurred. He blinks. It softens and clears.

He's staring at a ceiling, a familiar ceiling. He's seen this before. A slow, steady beeping of machines tugs at the edge of his mind. He shifts, only to find that he's drowning in countless wires. He tries to take a deep breath, the pain returns. He yelps, but it's husky as it rattles in his dry throat.

A straw is pressed against his lips; he accepts it and drinks slowly. The cold liquid rushes down his parched throat. He coughs and shifts his eyes to see who is there. Doctor Fraser stands next to him, she grips the glass gently in one hand, and she holds the straw with the other.

She smiles. "Welcome back." She says warmly.

"Where are the others?" Jonas speaks. His voice surprises him. It sounds distant, hollow, and tired, not like him at all.

"They're safe. SG-3 mounted a rescue mission with SG-4. Your friends are here and they're worried about you." She replies gently.

"I want to see them." Jonas replies. His voice is still weary.

"You can, but they're in a debriefing with General Hammond right now. They'll be down after it finishes."

Jonas nods, because he's too tired to speak anymore. His eyes drift shut and he falls into unconsciousness.

---

"He's sleeping." The words come from Fraser and pierce Jonas's hazy mind.

"Should we come back?" Sam's voice, gentle and worried.

"No, it'll be nice for someone to be here when he wakes up so he knows that he's safe. He's worried about you, all of you." Fraser says calmly.

There's movement and he senses a presence hovering near him. He forces his eyes open and meets Major Carter's light blue gaze. She smiles. He nods. She has a bruise on her cheek and a cut on her forehead, but she doesn't seem to notice.

More movement. Colonel O'Neill's tense face blocks his vision. The older man has a cast on his arm and a bruise along his jaw.

"You had to let yourself get shot, didn't you, Jonas?" The older man's words are stern, but not hurtful. O'Neill's brown eyes twinkle in a teasing manner.

"Not voluntarily." Jonas replies. His voice is still weak. He swallows the scratchiness in his throat and tries to hide a wince when a sharp jolt of pain pulls in his stomach.

He gasps, but will not allow weakness to cross his face. Not in front of his teammates.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, her face is anxious.

Jonas nods. Death no longer wants to take him hostage. He's fine.

"I thought I was going to die out there." Jonas replies, not quite sure where the words come from.

The faces of his teammates cloud to show sympathy. Fraser does something to his IV drip. He watches her through wavering eyes.

"It is not your time to die, Jonas Quinn." Teal'c speaks.

He knows that now, but he didn't know that when he was lying on the ground back on that planet. He didn't know everything was going to turn out to be okay as he slowly lost his grasp on life. He didn't know. He knows now though. He knows that he'll be okay.

His eyes grow heavy and he lets them close. He doesn't fight off the approaching darkness because he knows now that he has a tight hold on life. He's not afraid any longer.

---

He's pulled from sleep by the sound of a pen scratching against paper. He opens his eyes and turns his weary head to face the noise. Sergeant Bromwell sits in the chair next to him, she sees him and smiles. She sets her paper aside.

"How are you feeling?" She asks. Her blue eyes are soft and questioning.

"I'm holding on. Thanks for not letting me fall." Jonas replies.

She nods "You're welcome."

Jonas lets his mind drift.

He's holding on and he isn't letting go. He's never letting go.

Time. It's something that many people don't have enough of and one doesn't know how precious it is until it almost passes him by. Time never used to be something that Jonas worried about, but now his view has changed. Now he worries. He doesn't want to be a helpless victim of time.

**THE END!**

**A/N: I know it was short, and not very action packed, but I hope you all enjoyed it. Until next time!**


End file.
